


If I Didn't Know Better

by Prettypornybarbie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Bottom Dean, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, M/M, Marking, Masturbation, Oral Sex, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Some Fluff, Top Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 20:44:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3395732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prettypornybarbie/pseuds/Prettypornybarbie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sorry, Dean, I can’t promise you a friend.” </p><p>The voice doesn’t come from down the phone, but rather right behind him in the room. It shouldn’t have shocked Dean, he really should have seen it coming, but he didn’t and so, when he turns sharply to find the source of the voice, he shivers slightly to see Crowley standing, staring from the other side of the bed. </p><p>I can, however, promise to make you feel better.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Didn't Know Better

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't written here in a while but have a story.
> 
> Title comes from the Nashville song "If I Didn't Know Better".
> 
> I own nobody, mistakes are all my own - comments and kudos are more than a little appreciated.
> 
> Let me know what you think and send me prompts over at prettypornybarbie.tumblr.com

Dean Winchester, the righteous man, shouldn’t have ever found any form of comfort in mortal sin. He knew better, he should have fallen in love with Castiel - an angel, who’s eyes burned hot with lust anytime Dean caught him staring - he should have dialled somebody else that night; Sammy, Kevin, Charlie - anybody, except the one person that he did choose. With trembling hands, he dialled a number he hoped that he’d never have to use except in the worst of circumstances.

 

“Nice to heart from you, Princess, how can I help?” The voice is almost a purr, and it rushes through Dean, hot in his bloodstream - the low, gravelly tone catches him off guard, warms him with arousal in a way that feels so unnerving. He sits down on the edge of the bed, sighs softly, hands rubbing at his eyes. This was a mistake, he thinks, he could just hang up now, ring somebody else, he could…

 

“I just need a friend.” The words spill out of Dean, like he’s been holding them too long already. He’s embarrassed at how his voice cracks slightly, at the childlike vulnerability in him - he winces slightly when he pictures how pathetic this must seem on the other side.

 

“Sorry, Dean, I can’t promise you a friend.” The voice doesn’t come from down the phone, but rather right behind him in the room. It shouldn’t have shocked Dean, he really should have seen it coming, but he didn’t and so, when he turns sharply to find the source of the voice, he shivers slightly to see Crowley standing, staring from the other side of the bed. “I can, however, promise to make you feel better.”

 

Crowley’s smile terrifies Dean; it’s feral, and more than a little predatory -  and Dean is on him in a heartbeat. 

 

++++

 

Crowley’s lips are solid under Dean’s, but Dean knows Crowley enough to know the gesture isn’t meant to seem unwilling. The lack of interest only seems to make Dean work harder, his tongue pressing insistently in soft strokes against Crowley’s bottom lip - and Crowley finally allows him entrance, his tongue twisting softly against Dean’s, languid - almost bored. His hands snake up and tactically card through Dean’s hair, tugging gently until he pulls gasps from the younger man -knowing he’s worrying at each individual thread, centimetre by centimetre - waiting for Dean to unravel under his calloused fingertips.

 

“So responsive, love.” The pet name makes Dean flush across his chest, addicted to the praise Crowley so uncharacteristically lays on him. He wants more, so much more, and subconsciously he cants his hips against Crowley’s, denim too constricting - too many layers on too sensitive skin. He noses along the older man’s throat as Crowley’s hands tug harder in his hair, and Dean moans, teeth worrying a mark at the harsh line of the man’s neck. Crowley smiles despite himself, noting Dean’s reaction to his praise, he files it away carefully, “Oh, you like that, don’t you? Pretty little boy likes to be praised, likes to be told he’s doing well.” Dean nods slightly, his hands reaching down for Crowley’s belt, fumbling anxiously as he bites at the demon’s earlobe.

“Get on your knees and work for it, beautiful.”

 

Dean doesn’t need to be told twice, he drops to his knees, frees Crowley of his pants, underwear, shoes and socks. He takes little time to savour the cock that springs free, hard and red - curved towards Crowley’s stomach, before dipping his head, sucking it into his mouth, feeling it’s hot, heavy length. Crowley smells like cigarette smoke before it settles and becomes stale, thick and dark - it has Dean already waiting for his next hit, desperate. He slowly swirls his tongue around the head of Crowley’s cock, his green eyes never shying from Crowley’s black. The older man looks proud, and it strikes Dean that’s the first really emotion he’s shown throughout this encounter - it makes his cock even harder in his pants, pressing uncomfortably against the zipper - but the younger man is uninterested in himself for now, this is all about Crowley. Instead of gripping at Dean’s hair, Crowley’s touch turns almost gentle - and Dean dips even lower, taking Crowley into the tight wetness of his throat, resisting the urge to gag. Mouth full, Dean flicks playfully with his tongue, the extra stimulation makes Crowley curse roughly, and he can feel heat uncoiling in his stomach, spreading rapidly. When it gets too much, Crowley pushes Dean’s head away roughly, pulls him to his feet and undresses him - actions polar opposites of the early stages of the encounter, soft - the older man pressing kisses to each newly exposed piece of skin. His hands and mouth hover, never touching Dean’s throbbing dick, ghost over sensitive nipples. He takes his own shirt off, the two of them stand naked, drinking each other in for just a beat - Dean scarred and lean, just the hint of a stomach, Crowley soft, yet somehow strong - so much power held beneath the surface. The time stretches, and the pause between Crowley taking away his hands, and him placing them back on Dean has Dean sweating, trembling and needy.

 

“Daddy, please.” The word slips out, unplanned, and both men pause. The air hands heavy between them, clogged with a word Dean meant to keep locked up in the “fucked up, don’t open” box in his head. He recoils slightly, all but ready to dress himself again, ready to leave a hotel room that’s his anyway - anything to get away from this situation. Then, Crowley suddenly growls, and it’s low and possessive, any control quickly lost as Crowley’s mouth seals itself against Dean’s - all teeth and bruising pressure, all bite, and anger, and pure, thick want.

 

“You’re so pretty, all naked and hard for Daddy.” He all but growls, and his hands knead the soft flesh at Dean’s sides, and he quivers slightly under the pressure, keening for Crowley, cock starting to leak precome, Crowley’s cock rubs against Dean’s hip as he pulls closer to the hunter, hands running barely touching paths up and down his back, tickling more than stimulating.

 

“Oh fuck, Daddy, fuck, please.” The lack of any substantial stimulation is making Dean feel dizzy, has him rutting against thin air, against Crowley’s bare leg, against anything he can get any sort of friction from. Crowley grins, barely this side of a snarl, and moves his hands to Dean’s soft ass cheeks - pressing, massaging, spreading. Dean whimpers, stuck in his throat, presses himself closer to his lover. Crowley takes pity, shifting until their cocks brush against each other -it’s hot, barely wet enough from precome, and the stiff, not-quite slide has both men gasping. Dean is covered in a sheen of sweat, desperate and wanting in a way that Crowley may never have imagined that he’d ever see the hunter. It’s intoxicating, and it unsettles Crowley to think how easy it might be to get drunk on the younger man.

 

“Open yourself up for me, Love. Make room for Daddy.” Crowley’s eyes are dark and dangerous, despite Dean’s obvious embarrassment - he takes his lube out of the bedside table, a flush laying heavy on his chest. He slicks up his fingers, immediately pushing in one until the first knuckle, gasping from the intrusion - his eyes half lidded, but focused on Crowley, the older man allowing himself to lazily stroke himself as he watches his prize, stretched out in front of him on the bed, fingers inside his tight hole.

 

“Look so beautiful, Pet. Tell me how it feels.” Dean is working quickly, two fingers now inside himself. The sudden stretch and burn punches a moan out of him, and for around a minute, he can’t reply - too lost in the whole array of sensations. Crowley never leaves his gaze, pulling Dean back towards him, keeping him in the room, keeping the younger man with him.

 

“It’s so… shit, it’s so good. Oh, fuck, Da… Daddy - so tight and hot around my fingers, your cock is going to split me open. I’m going to, fuck, scream for you, Daddy. Go.. goin’ to come on just your cock.” Dean’s eyes are glazed as he pushes a third finger inside himself, scissoring quickly, crooking his fingers to brush against his prostate infrequently, but still making himself gasp and buck against his fingers - cock heavy, leaking, untouched.

 

“Come on then, Gorgeous, I’m waiting.” Crowley sounds amused, but there’s a solid, dark lust in his eyes - his tongue darting out to wet his lips - and it betrays him. Dean expects the older man to bend him over the bed, fuck him hard, fast and ruthless - but not for the first time in his life, Crowley surprises him - lying down, hands behind his head - allowing Dean to take the lead, take how much he wants, how he wants it. Oh God, Dean wants it. He crawls over the older man, suddenly feeling shy as he grasps his lovers cock, earning a deep, guttural moan from his partner, slicking him up with lube, he barely pauses, sinks down in one deep movement - both men yelling out. Dean plants his hands solidly on Crowley’s chest, anchoring himself, finding a good position to get some leverage.

 

“Fuck, baby boy, you’re so tight - so beautiful.” Dean pulls off almost all of the way, then sinks right back down, repeating over and over until the action is brushing just right inside him, pulling groans from both men each time Dean bounces - his cock heavy and steadily leaking against him as he speeds up the rhythm, needing so much more, wanting to give more.

“Oh fuck, Daddy. Yeah, Daddy, yeah.”  Crowley is lost in the image of the younger man, the righteous man, fucking himself ruthlessly. He sits up, plastering Dean’s front to his own, his hand settling steady on Dean’s lower back as, against his better judgement, he almost lovingly sucks delicate bruises into the slight tan, covered in a smattering of freckles that spread across his shoulders and neck.

 

He bucks his hips, roughly meeting each of Dean’s bounces with a snapping thrust. The younger man begins to lose his rhythm, he’s sobbing and incoherent, a litany of curses and “Daddy’s” fall from his plush lips - Crowley doesn’t even know if he realises that he’s talking anymore. Dean’s lover brushes up against his prostate every thrust, and each time seems to punch something new out of Dean. Crowley wants to see what else he can tear from the boy - he wants to take him apart and piece him back together in away that the blasted angel that remade him could only dream of doing. Crowley shocks himself by realising he wants every part of Dean, he wants all of it.

 

“So beautiful, like this. Come for me, beautiful, just on my big cock - untouched, like the good boy that you are.” The words punch Dean hard in the gut, and the heat that’s been radiating out in his stomach slowly, suddenly explodes - spreading fast as he comes hard, strings of come landing between him and Crowley as he yells out - just noises, as any words are lost to the moment. Dean’s fluttering hold rips Crowley’s orgasm from him - he bites roughly into the younger man’s shoulder - filling him until he’s sated and boneless, marked up from the inside out with something that’s so purely Crowley.

 

+++++

 

Dean expects a lot of things - he expects him to leave, braces himself for the cold as Crowley pulls out and leaves. He feels Crowley spread his legs out, Dean pauses, breath held - exposed. He expected a lot of things, but Crowley’s tongue easing out his own come from Dean’s hole hadn’t even made the list - he gasps out, too sensitive to want this, too needy to want him to stop. He bucks and writhes under Crowley, as his tongue easily slides into his used hole, curls, pulls out the come. Licking up Dean’s thighs, he gathers what he can - then reaches up, offers his mouth to Dean - the pure taste of Crowley spilling between them. Crowley smiles, satisfied, proud.

 

“Good Boy, wait here, I’ll clean you up.”

 

Dean Winchester, the righteous man, shouldn’t have ever found any form of comfort in mortal sin. Yet, here he was, warm from Crowley’s skin, their combined taste in his mouth - he's never felt more safe.


End file.
